


Found

by muldez



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, an oc (a past relationship in this case), bi mulder, but this isn't a mulder/oc fic, is mentioned, yes i know when you see an OC you're probably like NOPE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muldez/pseuds/muldez
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She found the sketchbook. It wasn't like he'd been purposely trying to hide it, or keep secrets from her. It really had just... never come up. She had no idea that he was bi, and he hadn't really thought to tell her. Or anyone, for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found

**Author's Note:**

> This is for anyone who headcanons Mulder as bi! And if you don't, that's cool too!

He hadn't thought about Him in at least a decade. It wasn't like they'd ended on bad terms or heartbreak, they'd simply gone their separate ways in a mutual decision of “this isn't going to work, is it?”. Mulder had been a little torn up over it for a while, sure, but his studies and the struggle to make it through his first year at Oxford had been a nice distraction. The other man in question had decided to drop out and pursue freelance work without the aid of a degree, which Mulder had always admired Him for- but could never imagine doing himself. Because of this, though, he'd never had to deal with seeing Him elsewhere at Oxford and being reminded of what could have been. And slowly, he realized that he didn't really seem to care anymore.

Despite getting over the relationship relatively quickly, he'd still kept the small leather bound sketchbook that had belonged to Him, the one that He'd dedicated to filling with drawings and sketches of Mulder throughout their time together. That had been the biggest perk of dating an art major; being the muse of someone who's entire world revolved around art and finding the beauty in everything. The book had almost completely been filled by the time the relationship ended, and when they'd gone their separate ways beneath the green of the willow tree where they'd shared their first kiss- the leaves a deep gold and crimson, then- He'd handed it to Mulder with a soft brush of the hand and murmured, “These are yours. They were always yours.”

Since then, the sketchbook had made its way from a dorm room in England, to a locker at Quantico, and finally to the back of a shelf in a Washington apartment, behind books about extraterrestrials and UFO sightings and things that go bump in the night. It had stayed there, untouched and forgotten, for years.

And then She came along.

She was a friend. No, more than a friend. But not a lover. She was something else entirely, something Mulder had somehow gone his whole life being unfamiliar with. She was... a confidante, a listener, a thinker. She was like him, but better. Better in every way shape and form. She'd known him for a little over a year and She had somehow become everything to him, the most important woman in his life besides his mother. And his sister...whom She had been helping him to find without judgment or pity, for which he was unbelievably grateful.

She found the sketchbook. It wasn't like he'd been purposely trying to hide it, or keep secrets from her. It really had just... never come up. She had no idea that he was bi, and he hadn't really thought to tell her. Or anyone, for that matter. He didn't really know why; he wasn't ashamed. He didn't hate himself or feel uncomfortable in his own skin. He'd been keeping things to himself his whole life, not really minding isolation or loneliness, so he supposed he'd gotten used to not needing to tell people things. And he'd forgotten that telling people things is something you're supposed to do, when you're as close with someone as he was with Her.

He'd been lying on the couch, poring over a case file they'd opened earlier that day. She'd been taking a break from paperwork to wander idly around his apartment, running her finger along the tears in the wallpaper and the spines of his books.

“Can I feed the fish?” she'd asked, peering into the little aquarium with her glasses sliding down her nose.

He'd looked up from the file, a small smile cracking on his focused face, “Go ahead, food is there on the shelf.”

He'd looked down again, unaware that the food was _not_ there on the shelf, but rather on his computer desk. She didn't know that either, of course, so she'd rummaged around the shelves, behind the books, searching for the little container. And then her fingers had touched the leather. She'd pulled the sketchbook from its unintentional hiding place, and opened it to see what was inside.

Then immediately snapped it shut.

He'd looked up, eyebrows raised, “What's wrong?”

“I- I-” she stammered, shaking her head, her face slightly pink, “Nothing, I just- I opened this book. I'm sorry, I didn't....” she'd laughed breathlessly, clearly embarrassed, “I didn't realize it was personal.”

The sight of the sketchbook had sent chills down his spine, made his eyes widen and his heart begin to thump in his chest. He'd closed the case file, laying it gently on the coffee table and slowly getting up. She'd handed him the book, not making eye contact as she turned to look at the fish once more.

“Where is that damn fish food?” she muttered under her breath, trying to change the subject.

He'd opened the book to the bookmarked page, the one she'd seen, and he'd felt his cheeks warm when he saw the detailed sketch of a much younger version of himself lying asleep in his dorm room bed, eyes closed, leg peeking out under the covers. It wasn't racy, there wasn't nudity, but you could sense the intimacy of the portrait, and it had understandably been uncomfortable for her to see.

“I'm sorry,” she said, and he looked up to see that she was looking at him again, biting her lip, face even redder than before, “I didn't know.”

“It's okay,” he laughed, shaking his head and closing the book again, thumb stroking the black leather. “Just a memento from an old relationship, nothing to apologize for.”

Silence, and then she'd spoken to break it, to make him (or probably herself) more comfortable again. “Whoever drew that...um...she's very talented.”

“ _He_ , actually.” he'd said, then looked up from the leather to see her face, a smile stretching on his own, “Old boyfriend from Oxford.”

He could see the surprise in her eyes, and almost hear the ticking of the machines in her mind trying to process what he'd just said. He knew what she was thinking- she was thinking of Phoebe, thinking of the women she'd seen him flirt with (or at least, the women who had flirted with him) throughout their time together.

“I guess it's never really come up, but...” he said with a soft laugh, and she'd raised an eyebrow, “I'm bi.”

She'd peered at him with another look, something completely different. Something he couldn't seem to register. She didn't say anything, so he awkwardly placed the book back on the shelf and turned around to pick up the case file again, his mind reeling with how she was reacting, unsure whether or not he was about to be ridiculed or lectured.

No, She wasn't like that. She would never.

And she didn't.

She'd joined him on the couch, tapping him lightly on the shoulder to make him look up. He did, and he'd watched that warm and familiar smile brighten up her soft features. She'd leaned in, wrapping her arms around him in a surprising but welcome hug. _Here it comes_ , he thought, here comes the _I still like you anyway even though I secretly think it's weird._

But that's not what she'd said. With a light giggle and a deep breath, she'd murmured quietly in his ear:

“Me too.”

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow me on tumblr: muldez.tumblr.com


End file.
